


T is for ...

by pamdizzle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Inspired by Art, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock Experiments on John, Slight Bondage, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Ummm..., WTF, if you consider tentacles wrapped around your arms and legs a form of bondage, reapersun should have her own archive warning, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamdizzle/pseuds/pamdizzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wow...so...I guess this is the second apology I owe to this fandom. I really didn't think my second Sherlock fic would be another baseless, plotless smut fest with a dash of weird and a side of tentacle sex. So...what happened is, I made a tumblr account and then I 'followed' Reapersun, who posted this new NSFW tentacle sex work that kind of wouldn't leave me alone. And so now...there be this...</p><p>I do apologize, that it *isn't* a continuation or nod to the piece of art which was the original inspiration for the piece of art that inspired this fic. It had to do with Lovecraft, but I'm not familiar and didn't have time to research, and so I just made up something else to work independently of the other picture. </p><p>At any rate...here it is...Again...I don't know what came over me! </p><p>The piece of art in question can be found here and is NOT safe for work: http://31.media.tumblr.com/cf1a95936a7f4a0c0340874e0cc2a71f/tumblr_mr5k5j5IXr1r7du26o1_1280.jpg</p>
            </blockquote>





	T is for ...

                It was getting boring…all the _waiting_. Sherlock drummed his fingers impatiently over the glass enclosure. _Nearly done..._ “Wake up!” he shouted to the peaceful face behind the glass.

                Silence. _Nearly done…_

                His limbs twitched with anticipation as he watched the container’s time tick slowly downward. How long had he waited? How many specimens had he crafted…how many failed attempts? With the growing anticipation, came the damnable anxiety that had now begun to taint the experiment. Every near miss; every close, but not quite…had all been for this. This one, singular moment when life would open its eyes and gaze upon him, when the body inside was no longer just a body but an animated, sentient, living, breathing organism.

                _John…wake up, John._

\--

                Breathing was difficult, his lungs were heavy— _tired,_ he thought absent mindedly, _tired from what?_ His sight was still unclear, disoriented, as if his pupils couldn’t decide what to focus on, the world smeared across his retinas like a Kaleidoscope of blurred objects and colors. Any movement beyond inhalation and exhalation, beyond glancing or blinking…was impossible.

                “Hrnnggaphh,” he tried again, his throat sore and sticky, delayed to swallow, unable to put vibration to word. _Hello,_ John thought into the darkness, _are you here? …Sherlock?_ He was all that John knew, from the moment he had awakened, shivering and confused.

                “John?” Sherlock’s voice called suddenly. He tried to focus his eyes in the dark, despite knowing they couldn’t see. His ears could hear just fine, however, and his head throbbed in time to a series of clicks and clangs, and other noises. Sherlock was preparing to move him, as he’d promised. John hadn’t—couldn’t—ask, but somehow his Sherlock had known that it was what he wanted.

                “John!” Sherlock’s voice was excited as his footfalls came nearer. “I hope you’re up for the trip today.” Hands then ghosted over his face, to his neck where Sherlock counted as he always did, then down to John’s hands and finally back up to his left shoulder. “Your eyes are looking clearer,” he declared happily.

                “Seerro’k…” the sound of his own gargling voice was startling to his own ears, and he felt Sherlock tense beside him.

                There were several moments of shocked silence and then Sherlock sputtered, “Did you just…did you…my name, John! You tried to say my name!”

                “Mmmm…” John tried to agree.

                “Brilliant!”

\--

                John had progressed quickly, and Sherlock was pleased. Nine months ago he’d been but a body in a box, a ticking timer to awareness, and oh, how very aware John was! Growing a specimen for companionship in one’s lair was not unheard of among his kind, but never had anyone managed to successfully splice their DNA with that of a human’s! His pet was so much better than all the rest—self-aware, intelligent and oh, so soft. It had taken some time, but the fine nerve endings of John’s epidermis shell was finally fully capable of processing touch.

His hybrid was sensitive in the most amazing places, around his ribs, under his arms, behind the knees; and he made so many astounding sounds and expressions, and his eyes—a minor mutation of the splicing process—were all finally coordinated. Now, when John looked at him, Sherlock could see him there just behind his blue irises. Months of trials and failures, frustration and growing irrationality, but it had been worth it, hadn’t it? The end result was a creature so beautiful and brilliant that Sherlock could barely contain his glee, which was saying a lot considering he’d never before experienced it prior to John’s awakening.

                “John!” he called impatiently from their bedroom. “I told you to get _on with it!_ ”

                “Sherlock,” the hybrid growled back in frustration as he entered the room, “I told you it would take some time.”

                He smiled at his disgruntled companion, standing unhappily nude with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face averted while his shoulder rolled its eyes at him in annoyance. “Come here,” Sherlock ordered softly, one of his sinewy limbs extending from the bed to wrap around John’s nearest forearm and pull. “Please, John,” Sherlock pleaded. “I waited so long for you…”

\--

                John risked a glance in Sherlock’s direction, which did nothing to relieve his uneasiness concerning what he’d been preparing to get up to for the past half hour. His Sherlock was spread out on their bed, hiding nothing of himself from John’s perusal. John tried to remind himself that he was lucky, that Sherlock _had_ waited a long time for this and that above all else, he owed Sherlock his life. He knew what was expected of him, but…

                A familiar, soothing firmness wrapped itself gently around his wrist. John did look up then, and he just barely managed to keep his eyes on Sherlock’s face, rather than dropping any lower. “You’re frightened of me. That my appearance is so different from your own,” Sherlock sneered and released him in distaste. “I never expected you could be so dull—”

                “Christ Sherlock, can’t you shut up for more than five seconds?!” John exploded, grabbing for the retreating tentacle and pulling it back toward him none too gently. “Yes, alright? I—I’m _worried_ , but not because of…of…of _you_ ,” he shouted, gesturing toward Sherlock’s person. “It’s _that_ , okay?”

                Sherlock’s eyes trailed down to where John’s finger had just pointed accusingly at his groin. “Is that all?”

                “Is that all?” John mimicked in astonishment. “It’s bloody well huge! You didn’t take it into account when you thought to use human DNA to grow me in your lab, did you? It’s not going to fi—”

                “John, do shut up and get. Over. Here. _Now_.” Sherlock demanded, taking his own turn to twine three more of his limbs around John’s arms and tug him bodily onto the bed. His hands came up to cradle John’s face before letting his tongue snake out to lick into his mouth. John closed his lips around the questing muscle and sucked, enjoying the way it wiggled and writhed against his own tongue.

                Sherlock’s hands and winding limbs gripped and maneuvered him, until he was straddling the scientist’s waist. His groin and backside were pressed flush against _part_ of Sherlock’s length and John again found himself trying not to tense. “If you don’t relax,” Sherlock advised lowly, “it really _won’t_ be any fun for you.”

                “I know,” John began defensively, “I just—mmmmph!!” More tongue. Lots and lots of talented, twining tongue.

                He both hated and loved belonging to this creature, being alive, being so desperately needed by Sherlock. ‘Why did you bother?’ John had asked in frustration one night, tired of ranking somewhere between pet and experiment.

Sherlock had looked at him then, his eyes displaying a vulnerability John had never seen before, as if to ask him, _Isn’t it obvious?_ ‘Because I needed you, of course,’ he had replied.

“Stop thinking,” Sherlock’s voice called him back to the present. “It’s distracting.”

“Sorr—”

“For you,” the arrogant git clarified, “so you can focus on getting us off.”

“Right,” John huffed, “Good. I read something of yours about the laws of physics earlier—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Sherlock all but growled and pushed John off to the other side of the bed before using his tentacles to flip him onto his stomach. “I’ll ready you myself, you disobedient—”

“Would you shut up and fuck me already so I don’t have to think about it?!”

Sherlock’s breath came out in an irritated gust against John’s lower back, before his ass was seized and parted by two greedy palms. He nearly jackknifed off the bed at the first press of tongue, swiping along the cleft. “Ah! Christ, Sherlock!”

“You worry too much,” his Sherlock lectured as his fingers circled and prodded John’s entrance. “Of course I thought about it, of course I accounted for it.” The tongue returned, joining his fingers to dance around John’s opening. Tentacles wound around either of his wrists and he remained still—well, perhaps he writhed a bit—as Sherlock licked and fingered him open. John had prepared himself enough for it to feel nothing but extraordinary and his cock was already full and throbbing against the mattress by the time Sherlock pulled away again.

Two more tentacles and a sturdy arm wound their way around John’s calf and thighs, the other two tentacles on his wrists slid to his shoulders and pulled. He was hoisted up from the mattress and back against Sherlock’s chest. There was a soft, wet prodding and then breach, and John panted, “Is that…”

“Not yet,” Sherlock whispered, “but soon.”

The tentacle Sherlock had pushed inside of him steadily pressed in deeper after each slow, withdrawal, making John tremble with need. That sweet spot Sherlock had found with his fingers just weeks before was buzzing and throbbing at the insistent contact. And yet…it wasn’t nearly enough, he soon realized. “Hah—ah! Sherlock, more…more, I need more…”

He could feel Sherlock’s lips smirk against the back of his neck before he pulled away again, leaving John’s body feeling vacant and yearning. He groaned in protest, his cock bobbing as he wriggled impatiently against Sherlock’s squeezing confines. Then, he was there, and it was more…so much more, pushing in and spreading him beyond his physical limits, and yet… “Oh, _God_ , _yes,_ ” John moaned, pushing back for more. It was as though he were made of some high-tensile elastic—tight but somehow unbreakable—and all he felt was full and open and slick, wet friction.

“There isn’t anything that doesn’t occur to me, John,” Sherlock was saying now, his tongue licking against his throat, “I didn’t create you just for this—an afterthought, really, when your gloriously human nature became too alluring to ignore. But…you were made for my kind, John… Designed to fulfill my needs.” Sherlock was panting in his ear, his words rolling over John’s overheating flesh, “My process is still imperfect. You are damaged, but sentient and free, yet still, your body longs to accommodate me…and in this, _you truly are perfect._ " Sherlock was holding John suspended above the bed as his massive cock drummed in and out, as frenetic in this as he was, John had learned, everything else.

John could feel the body behind him trembling with the effort of its imposed restraint, and Sherlock's movements began to grow more and more uneven. John could feel his prick starting to pulse against the walls of his body, the glide becoming easier and easier. Finally, Sherlock grunted and stilled as liquid heat began to surge into John and out like a wave of warm honey against that sweet spot and he could feel his body coiling for a final spring. John reached back with his most-human arm and tangled a hand in the hair at the base of Sherlock’s neck. His head fell back onto a sweaty shoulder and he arched his spine, his body tight with pressure and heat and _God so close…so close…_ “Don’t stop,” he managed between clenched teeth, “ _Don’t_ …ever— _umph_!”

                John’s climax ripped through his soul like a harsh wind through the trees and his cock pulsed and came, untouched, in a white arch over the bed and down onto the sheets. Sherlock remained still inside of him as John felt himself being lowered onto the bed. He closed his eyes and gave in to the soothing ministrations of familiar tentacles rubbing circles into the sore muscles of his back, neck and thighs. They rode their fall from euphoria together, breaths labored and bodies boneless.

Later, as they lay together in the quiet, John came back to himself long enough to ask, “Why haven’t you perfected it?”

Sherlock hummed against his shoulder, “Perfected what?”

“The process,” John pressed, “you said ‘your process was imperfect’ so why haven’t you been working to improve it?”

“Why would I need to improve it?” he fairly snorted in derision. “Granted, it _shouldn’t_ have worked—you should have been a blabbering, incoherent fool. But somehow, despite all the inherent flaws and all the odds, here you are, so why should I bother? Toying with it further would be a tedious waste of time.”

Oddly, it was all John needed to hear. He was quietly searching Sherlock’s words for further meaning when he suddenly noticed something—or the absence of something—very odd. “Sherlock, where is your…” he turned around and gaped. Where there had once been a massive cock of a tentacle there was now naught but a mere fleshy stub. “Where the buggering fuck did it go?!”

John glanced around the room. He really wished he hadn’t. Sherlock’s unattached prick was there, clear across the room, draped over the dresser. His initial reaction was to look down and check his own equipment…

“Yours isn’t going to fall off,” Sherlock’s voice was decidedly amused. “That particular bit of your anatomy _is_ entirely human.”

“Then what—”

“It’ll grow back,” he added with a dismissive wave of his hand. “In fact, I grew that one specifically for tonight.”

John’s brain came to a full stop. “Grew it?”

“All the male species of my kind are capable of growing a variety of penile extremities at will and we never use the same one twice. I thought you had been studying—”

“Why not something smaller to start with then?!” John interrupted, thoroughly put out with Sherlock’s never-ending…Gods, there wasn’t even a word for what the madman was!

“Smaller John, really?” Sherlock chided, pressing the hybrid back down to the mattress so he could loom over him seductively. “You weren’t complaining when it was buried inside of you.”

John felt his face burn with embarrassment. _No. No he hadn’t, had he?_ Sherlock’s hand drifted down John's hips to toy with his half-interested prick and John reached to stop it, “What are you doing? Won’t it take some time to…you know…grow another…” he couldn’t stop his eyes from flying to the thing on the dresser, and he swallowed. _Christ, would the next one be even bigger?_ he wondered.

“Rather irrelevant, isn’t it?” Sherlock purred. “It is your turn, after all.”

Grateful. John was definitely grateful to be alive. And happy, and happy to be Sherlock’s and—

“Quit counting your blessings and get on with it, John!”

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the typos. I completed the last part at work and was too paranoid to do a complete proof. lol
> 
> Also: I write original m/m erotica fiction, if you're interested. You can find it [here](http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_1117)


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